


Railing the Derailed

by caixa



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Aftercare, Carolina Hurricanes, Collars, Gangbang, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ritual Sex, Team Bonding, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa
Summary: Sebastian Aho needs to score in the playoffs.





	Railing the Derailed

 

”I think it could work,” Willy says. “He’s a team guy. He’s the kind who’d response to it well.”

Rod purses his lips and nods repeatedly. The spring evening in Raleigh is mild, soft breeze makes the shrubbery around his backyard hush. It’s not uncommon for the head coach of the Carolina Hurricanes to sit down in the wicker chairs by the pool with his captain like this: they’re close friends, shared ups and downs, victories and hardships, and he trusts Justin’s judgment enough to ask his opinion in things that matter.

Rod takes a short tight swig of his beer. The one he’ll allow himself to drink will have to last.

“I’m glad you agree. And, normally I’d prefer just players being on it –“

Justin cuts him. “He wouldn’t. You’re an exception. He’s an exception. You’re not just a coach for him. You mentor him, he sees you one-on-one, up close, on the ice, in your skates, every day. He looks up to you. You will _need_ to be in on this. Personally.”

The captain leans back in his chair and flashes a quick smile and a wink to his friend. “So no, you won’t be selfish. He’s fucking cute but it won’t be selfish. You’ll be doing it for the right reasons.”

Rod chuckles and points at Williams with his bottle.

“The same goes to you, Willy. The same goes to you.”

“Oh, I’m in on this too?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. It’s a captain’s duty. It always is.”

“Okay.” Justin gulps down the last of his beer and nods. “So it is. But when?

“Well,” Rod tilts his head, “If he doesn’t score in Philly, we’ll have to act. It’s better to start arranging it already. It’s only a few days to the playoffs. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday –  one of those three days, I’d say. Do you think you could round up some guys to help out?”

Justin guffaws a laughter. “When it’s Sebastian? Man, I’ll have to kick some of the ugliest out or the whole locker room is in line.”

Rod chuckles. “The ugliest? Where will you find those on this team?”

“Fair,” Willy laughs and shakes his curls. “But you know it’s not a problem. Anybody will be happy to help out.”

“So. We’re in?” Rod lifts his eyebrows to a question.

Willy lifts his ass from his chair and extends his hand to shake Rod’s.

“We’re in. _If_ he doesn’t score in Philly.”

“Yeah. If he doesn’t.”

“We’ll rail the derailed.”

 

The thing is, Sebastian Aho needs to score in the playoffs.

Aho has been his good, solid self for all the games of the playoff run and nobody in the Carolina Hurricanes team or organization would publicly admit their worry of the ill-timed 14-game goal drought of their top scorer, point leader and first line center. There’s too much respect and care for the friendly and determined 21-year-old in the room.

He makes plays. He gives pinpoint assists. He makes no mistakes on the ice despite the strain of playing monster minutes.

He just doesn’t score.

The opposing teams keep him on tight watch, of course, making it often smarter for him to move the puck to a linemate with a sneaky pass.

But Aho hasn’t scored since he tallied his 30th of the season, an empty netter against the Nashville Predators, and it was almost a month ago. And for a 30 goal a season scorer it’s just ridiculous to suddenly stop.

The situation hasn’t been unacceptable, though. In the regular season they can take it.

But now the stakes are higher. They’re facing the defending champions on the first round and they will need all hands on deck. Everybody needs to step up. Everybody.

Even the star center who does nothing wrong and everything right has to do _more_ right. He has to do _righter_.

But how?

 

Rod wouldn’t call it a ritual, neither would Justin, or a tradition, or a superstition. Maybe it’s just a gimmick, a trick. A disruption, a finger on the reset button.

Sometimes a player’s head is just a little off thread and it needs to get screwed on right.

Sometimes it needs to get _literally_ screwed on right. To shake some stiffness out, get back on track.

 

Sebastian is a good sport about it. Rod wouldn’t have expected anything less from him, the coaches’ dream he is as a player.

He takes on the invitation so lightheartedly it’s hard to say if his stance comes out of innocence or if he knows exactly what he’s getting into.

“I thought the goals will come when I just keep playing right,” Sebastian shrugs, “But I know it’s different now. More – urgent.”

Sebastian shakes his recovery drink between them on a row of stools in the hallway to the gym, reeking of fresh post-ice sweat, dressed his usual T-shirt and shorts.

“Can’t hurt to try,” he continues, opening the lid of the shaker bottle and taking a sip. A small, almost hidden smirk ripples on the corners of his lips, the kind Justin can’t help noticing whenever he replays the interview video where Sebastian calls him daddy, and he gives them both twinkling, sidelong glances from the corners of his eyes. “Unless it’s a good kind of hurt. If you know what I mean.”

He’s flirting, the sneaky little shit.

 

Rod gets a hotel room booked for Monday night. A suite, that is: king size bed, plush carpets, sizeable lounge chairs, spacious couches.

Neutral ground works best, he figures, most of the older guys with nice big houses have families, and well. Locker room grind has its place and Sebastian is a humble, low maintenance kid who wouldn’t mind – but some comfort and luxury never hurt anyone.

Willy seems to appreciate it when he arrives with the gear bag. He looks around himself in the room muttering “ _Nice”._

“What did you bring?” Rod asks, nodding towards the bag.

“Not much,” Justin says. “I don’t think Seb is a props kind of guy.”

 

Maybe Sebastian isn’t, but he certainly isn’t averse, either.

He knocks on the room door on time and only smiles mildly when Justin answers the door barefoot, in nothing but a white hotel bathrobe. Sebastian has undressed his jacket, it hangs from his joined hands in front of his body like a shield when Justin guides him inside the room, hand on the small of his back.

His smirk stays just as coy when he crosses the threshold to the bedroom of the suite and sees Rod lounging naked on the bed, leaning to the headboard, ankles crossed comfortably. Sebastian strolls in Justin’s guidance next to the bed and bows to greet the coach with kisses on each cheek.

Nobody ever does that in the team but it doesn’t seem one bit out of place.

“Nice.” Justin says, taking Sebastian to the middle of the room and stopping him there. They stand face to face, Sebastian looking attentively at him, like awaiting instructions.

Justin takes the jacket out of his hands and hangs it folded on the back of a desk chair.

“Nice to have you here, love,” he says. “You know you’re the main event now. We’re here for you. You understand that?”

“I do.”

“We’ll do nothing that you don’t want. Anything freaks you out, anything goes wrong, everyone has your safeword memorized. We love you. We’d never do anything to hurt you, sweetheart. You’re safe. We want you to let go and enjoy the ride for tonight. Shake things up a little.”

Sebastian half-shrugs restlessly, like he’s getting impatient having to listen to Justin state the obvious, reciting what has already been talked through.

“I know,” is all he says.

Justin lifts his chin with one finger. It rises pliantly, and Sebastian’s mouth is soft and moist when it opens under his kiss. He places his hand on Sebastian’s neck, on the nape first, slides it up to dig his fingers among the smooth hair, following with the other hand over his throat. Sebastian whimpers softly into his mouth for both of the touches, kissing him harder.

Justin doesn’t have to ask if he’s ready.

 

He does ask about the collar, though, after he’s stripped Sebastian of his street clothes. It’s wide, heavy black leather, more on the side of functional than flashy, only a couple of flat studs and a metal ring, a small buckle for adjustment.

“Sure,” Sebastian nods and turns around in front of him, shaking his hair and stretching his neck, bare shoulders down, chin up, like the belle of the ball waiting for her pearls. Justin wraps the collar around his neck and buckles it, holding a finger between the leather and skin.

“You can put it tighter,” Sebastian says.

“Won’t you choke?” Justin asks while already pulling the buckle to the next hole. Sebastian glances at him over his shoulder, sweeping his face with his eyes. _So?_ he doesn’t say but the silent message is loud and clear.

 

“Buckled up and ready for the ride?” Rod asks from his spot on the bed.

Sebastian climbs in on his hands and knees and crawls closer in soft moves. Rod puts a finger through the metal ring of the collar and pulls him to a kiss, pornographic and rude, tongue, spit and filthy sounds. Sebastian takes a deep breath and licks his upper lip when they stop.

Rod backs towards the side of the bed, ensuring there’s room for Justin. His finger is still in the ring and he uses it to guide Sebastian down towards his crotch.

Sebastian makes a few wet stops on the way, pressing kisses on the dips between the defined muscles of Rod’s torso. Rod turns, shuffling to his side as Sebastian reaches his cock. Sebastian kisses his way around the base, giving little licks to the balls, to the crease of the groin, before opening his lips lusciously on the shaft, traveling up to sink the pink head in his mouth.

He’s on his side now, too, letting the cock of his coach slide deeper in his mouth, crawl on his wet tongue like a rigid fleshy snake. Rod lifts his upper leg over his shoulder, trapping his head under the sheer strength of his thigh. He has released his finger from the collar and placed the top of Sebastian's head instead, guiding its movement over the hair.

The touch doesn’t push Sebastian down but it keeps him in his place. A subtle, steady rocking of Rod’s hips moves the cock inside his mouth, and he can’t add much to it but some shallow lapping; he sucks but can’t swallow, saliva forms under his tongue and it’s about to well in the corners of his lips.

Justin has dropped his robe on the floor and shimmies on the bed to get behind Sebastian. It takes some positioning to get close enough and avoid knocking himself on Rod’s foot but he gets there, brushing the brown hair up from the nape of Sebastian’s neck, kissing his hairline.

“So fucking pretty,” he says close to Sebastian’s ear, “So quick to get sucking that cock.”

He lets his hand glide down the length of Sebastian’s back, stern on the long muscles, thumb brushing along the dip of the spine. He reaches the ass and squeezes it. Sebastian hums and whimpers around Rod’s cock, wiggling against Justin's touch, and Justin rubs the buttock hard, a circular movement on the firm roundness.

“Eager for this?” Justin asks, fingers sweeping the crack more determined on each squeeze and stroke, like Sebastian could answer face stuffed full of dick, like Justin needed to hear the answer in words, there’s no mistake in reading Sebastian’s body.

He gets the lube, preps Sebastian’s hungry tight hole, reveling in the wet squelching his finger makes in the slippery ass.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he says, not as much to Sebastian than as a heads-up for Rod. Rod hears it and lifts his head to watch over Sebastian’s shoulder how his friend’s cock enters the young player’s ass. He eases his grip of Sebastian’s head a bit, giving him a chance to relax and adjust to the new sensation but Sebastian keeps sucking him just as deep as before.

“Babe. Fucking glorious,” Rod mumbles, probably just as much to all three of them. Sebastian’s tongue milks the underside of his cock with a long drag that elicits a guttural _fuck yeah_ from his throat.

Justin holds Sebastian’s upper buttock spread to the side with his hand and takes support for his thrusts from rooting one foot to the mattress, knee bent upwards.

Rod lifts his leg back from where it has been weighing down Sebastian’s neck for the sake of courtesy, he doesn’t want to take all the room from Justin. The move doesn’t mean he won’t still be fucking the sweet boy’s face, deep and possessive. He grips the head tighter again, fingers in the hair, and Sebastian loses coordination of his tongue game, just receiving, sucking, salivating, chest drawing in erratic breaths through the nose whenever he can around the cockhead.

Rod stiffens, tenses; fistful of hair in one hand, the other feeling the ripple of the heaving skin above the collar, under Sebastian’s jawline, over the roots of his tongue, gagging reflex trying to take over where he won’t let it. Where Sebastian won’t let it, taking in the warm load Rod is spilling in a rush down his throat, down where Rod knows it will burn, where Sebastian will feel it burn.

Sebastian licks the remnants of cum from the softening cock in feisty little licks when Rod slowly pulls back, to keep matching the sensation of Justin fucking his ass with something in his mouth.

Justin turns him slightly more on his belly, nesting a knee between his on the mattress, pumping into him from top. Sebastian’s head rests on Rod’s thigh now, Rod pets his hair, occasionally giving it a little tug that makes him yelp with pleasure.

Justin yanks Sebastian's hips a bit higher to pound soundly into him, keeps going on one hand on his ass, the other gripping the collar, enhancing his speedy thrusts with sharp little slaps on his buttocks.

Just as he’s about to come the captain pulls out. He hikes forward on his knees, brackets Sebastian’s back with his cock in his grip, marking the skin with strands of white drops from Sebastian's waistline up to his shoulders.

 

“What about the others?” Rod asks. Justin has just come back from the bathroom, wiping his dick and groin area with a moist towel.

Justin grabs his phone from a side table, sweeps and taps.

“Should be here any minute. Jordo has a key but I told them to wait in the lobby. You have time to shower now if you want to freshen up. Not you, slut,” he says, flicking at Sebastian’s bare butt with a corner of the towel on the last notion. “You ain’t done yet.”

 

A metallic chain rattles pulled out of the gear bag. It’s a short leash.

Justin hangs it between his hands, looking questioningly at Sebastian.

"Okay with it?" he checks. Sebastian nods and Willy attaches it on the metal ring of Sebastian’s collar.

“Huh?” Justin nudges his head towards the bedroom door and tugs the leash lightly. Sebastian gets up, smoothing his hair back from his temples with both hands. Justin smiles gently down at him.

“You’ll be good. We’ve got your back, remember.” The slightly silvery dark curls bounce when he nods towards Rod still lounging on the bed.

Justin opens the door and Sebastian steps over the threshold.

Eyes on him, all over the lounge: sitting in armchairs, standing slanted by the side wall, sprawled on the couch.

This is going to be some night.

 

Jordan Staal has massive thighs. Sebastian knows it from before, but now that Willy is walking him towards the armchair where Jordo sits dressed in a T-shirt and boxer briefs he can’t focus on anything but the way he fills the chair when he sits there, legs spread.

“You’re the first,” Justin smiles at his alternate captain.

“Is he ready?” Jordo asks.

Justin winks at him. “Better than you are. Could’ve got yourself out of those clothes.” He smacks Sebastian’s ass. “But yeah, I left him nice and slick. All yours.”

Justin holds the end of the leash towards Jordan. “Hold on,” Jordo says, pushing his briefs down to his ankles and kicking them to the side, baring a half-mast erection that he promptly starts to stroke to full glory, extending his hand towards Sebastian. Justin hands him the leash but Jordan drops it, shaking his head and taking Sebastian’s hand instead.

“Okay, baby, come on here,” he says, shuffling closer to the edge of the seat, inching his thighs together. “Ride my dick.”

He helps balance Sebastian to straddle his lap even if it means squeezing his knees in a very confined space between Jordo and the armrests. But it’s good, the chair good enough quality to be soft and firm, and Sebastian’s knees may sink into the cushions but there’s still some support.

Sebastian lets Jordan’s cock slide on his crack first, riding the surface of the shaft up and down, the erection growing bigger and harder against his buttocks until Jordan guides him up, positioning the tip on his hole, looking him in the eye.

“Okay?” he asks.

Sebastian nods, and Jordo pushes him down, securing his cock upright with his hand. Sebastian sinks down on the pole, it’s fucking _big_ , like sitting on a baseball bat, his body screams with the feeling of being split in fucking half and the pleasure of being filled. He shuts his eyes, getting Jordo’s cock in all the way, supporting himself to Jordo’s shoulder and the armrest, and starts to ride. It’s cautious and tentative first until he adjusts and the filling girth and the deeply gratifying length of the shaft start feeling _really_ good. He greets the sensation by opening his eyes and smiling at Jordan, horny and reckless.

“You’re fucking huge, Jordo. What a fucking horse-dick. God. _God. GOD._ ”

“Watch your mouth,” Jordan mutters, pacing Sebastian’s riding with hands on his hips.

“Want me to gag the brat?” Willy asks. Sebastian turns to see him stand by the chair, the leash Jordo abandoned in his hand. He flashes Sebastian a shit-eating grin when he sees that Sebastian notices. Rod has got up from the bed: he’s in the background, arms folded across his chest, leaning to the bedroom doorway. Naked.

“Nah,” Jordan says, panting because they’re fucking in a steady pace, “I’m good. Better keep his mouth free.” He looks at Sebastian’s lips with glassy eyes. “You will suck so much dick tonight, boy. Hell yeah.”

Sebastian’s thighs are strained, although his knees are firmly seated his ankles and feet are hanging awkwardly up, locked between the armrests and Jordan’s thighs and its taking its toll on him but the cock feels so good he’ll ride it to sundown, or sunrise if it lasts that long.

But it doesn’t. Jordan’s pants grow into growling. He clutches the chain of the leash, grabbing it from Justin’s hands, pulls it down forcing Sebastian to arch his neck, and presses him tight to his lap by his hip.

Jordo’s cockhead pushes so deep inside him that Sebastian moans. He hasn’t come with Justin and Rod and Jordo makes no move to help his release with his hand now but he feels close, so close, the big cock pressing to the right area inside him so sternly, the root of the cock so hard on his rim.

He leaks, trickling clear precum, but the only real jizz spilling out of him as he gets up from the armchair is Jordo’s.

 

It becomes a hazy blur, a hyper-stimulated sex high. Sebastian focuses on each of his partners with the same love and intensity but when it accumulates, it becomes something different, a series of sensations dissolving, merging into each other. A cock entering his mouth when another leaves his ass, Mrazek’s cum tasting sweet but Nino’s sour, or the other way around.

Marty kissing him through his tickling moustache, pinning his wrists to the couch cushions above his head, giggling “I will make sweet love to you, Seabass” – and _fucking coming through_ with his words.

Brock living up to his nickname. Andrei being so young but so fucking dominant, a powerhouse.

 

His ass swollen and loose, aching throb in his teased cock, tense to the verge of bursting. His jaws overstretched, throat coarse, a tacky film covering his teeth. His skin: sticky here, wet there, face, chest, hands, ass. Viscous, runny, gluey spunk. Buttocks pink from brisk slaps: Brock was into spanking. _Sebastian_ was into getting it.

Nothing but unfaltering love.

His legs tremble when Justin helps him up from the last spot where he has been left, collapsed spent on the plush rug.

Love.

Justin seeing him from lover to lover, from floor to chair to couch, steady hand in the end of his leash. Rod watching over gingerly, in constant movement but always somewhere, kicked back in a recliner, pacing by the wall, at times a hand on his cock, just as often crossed across his chest.

Sebastian knows they love their team.

He loves his team.

 

Justin unbuckles the collar in bed. He traces Sebastian’s neck with his fingertips, the red marks where the leather has chafed the skin. He kisses them and Sebastian shivers.

“You’re so tough,” Justin whispers.

“Mmh. No big deal,” Sebastian mumbles.

“It should be a big deal,” Justin says.

“Playoffs are a big deal,” Sebastian says. A smile lights up his eyes first, spreads as a giant grin to his lips. “And we are in!” he exclaims.

“Do you feel ready?” Rod asks.

Sebastian stifles the grin to purse his lips intently and looks his coach deep in the eye. He knows he's about to get a kiss, slow and lingering, and a loving round or two before calling Turbo to pick him up and get him home.

“Ready to kill,” he says.

 

* * *

 

the end – or the beginning!

 

**Author's Note:**

> WE ARE IN THE 2019 STANLEY CUP PLAYOFFS, BABY!
> 
> Edit: WE ARE IN! THE SECOND ROUND OF THE 2019 STANLEY CUP PLAYOFFS!! 
> 
> (AND SEPE HAS SCORED TWICE!!)
> 
> (and I decided to take this off the anon collection)


End file.
